Shattered Bonds
by Narwhalnel
Summary: Bobby has caught wind of Bella's trail, and it takes Team Freewill to London at 221C Baker St just as odd crimes start popping up. Takes place just before Sam gets his soul back and right before the Great Game. Sequel: Reforged, R&R, Destiel
1. An Introduction

"I've caught wind of Bella Talbot's trail"

The voice over the phone cause Dean's face to light up. "Seriously, Bobby? Where? How?"

Sam looked on in interest and Castiel stood there, arms crossed in irritation.

"She made the mistake of leaving the country publicly, that's what. Probably thought it was less conspicuous than private jets. She's right, of course, but a friend of mine saw her in First Class."

"Where?" Dean's voice was laced with excitement.

"London."  
>He hung up after a short thank you and faced his companions with a gusto he hadn't felt in a while. "Well?" inquired Sam blankly.<br>"Well, what?" repeated Dean, "We're off to kill that little bitch."

"Dean, I do not think that leaving right after the discovery of Sam's problem is a wise thought," Castiel's raspy voice chipped in. "We have other things to focus on at the moment."  
>"Yeah, yeah. Purgatory, right? Well, I'm fuckin sick of it, man. I need a break. A real one. Not like last year." <em>When I lost both of you <em>hung in the air, unsaid.

Dean jumped up and started to scrounge up his belongings from the cheap Ohio motel. "Besides," He continued, unwaveringly. "I did promise to kill the bitch."

Sam just shrugged. "Alright, I don't really care either way."

"Yeah well, that's cause you're all Robo-Cop on me. If you had that puzzle piece, then you'd be as psyched about killing her as I am."

He and Sam packed quickly. As Dean zipped up his duffel, he looked at Castiel with excitement. "You wanna zap us there and come along, Cas? It'll be fun!"

Castiel looked unsure of himself. "I don't know, Dean. I'm fighting a civil war, as abstract as you seem to find that concept."

Dean frowned. "No, I get it. What I don't get is why you don't take a break. Leave someone else in charge for a week."

Castiel's millennia of years manifested in his suddenly weary face. "Of course, anything for you, Dean. Always, you have my top priority over all else." And then he was gone.

This was the second remark of that nature he had heard from the Fallen Angel, where the tone was sincere but the wording sounded resentful. The elder brother tried his best to shrug off the discomfort the words had left him bearing while Sam just bleakly watched the exchange. Dean was really getting tired of the Soulless Sam-wannabe.

They sat there waiting in silence for an hour before Castiel reappeared. "It is done," he said gruffly, sounding none too happy. "Let us depart." He placed two fingers on each brothers' foreheads and within a blink they were in an alley in London. They walked out and even Sam had to give the tiniest twinge of awe at the sight of the antique housing and the strange cabs. Castiel didn't even blink.

"Come," said Castiel, surprising both Dean and Sam. "There is a devout woman not far from here who will offer us cheap housing for a short time." The brothers exchanged a quick glance and followed the angel into the street, ignoring the blaring of the car horns of indignant cabbies. Eventually, they stood before 221 Baker St and Castiel knocked four times. An old woman answered curiously. "Yes?"

"I am an angel of the Lord and I require temporary use of your empty facilities. You will be compensated."

Mrs. Hudson stared in shock for a moment, then ushered them in. "Always the weird ones," Dean swore he heard her mutter. "221C is open for the moment. It is small but it has two beds and a small kitchenette. Pay half rent now, and if you stay longer than two weeks you'll have to do the same again." She said in a sweet voice, opening the apartment door and shifting the nearly barren room's few belongings around to tidy up quick. Dean handed her a wad of cash, not really counting. Castiel blinked before the lady noticed and the dollars became Euros. "Thank you, dearie." She pocketed the money and shuffled out of the apartment as Dean and Castiel gave each other weird looks, as if uncertain how to react to each other.

Sam broke the awkward silence by loudly dropping his duffle onto the leftmost bed. Castiel blinked. "I have matters to attend to."  
>He was gone in a flurry of invisible feathers.<p>

Dean swore.

Because of the time difference, they slept. Neither had any clue as to what they had just gotten themselves into.


	2. An Awkward Turn of Events

The next morning, Dean was woken by gunshots. In an instant, he and Sam were up the stairs armed with handguns and enchanted daggers. They heard Mrs. Hudson screech something from behind the door of 221B and then another gunshot accompanied by her scream. Sam kicked down the door and they scouted, finding a young, lanky man with a mop of black hair and startling blue eyes lying on a couch casually pointing his now empty gun at a poorly painted yellow smiley face on the wall opposite him that was obviously no stranger to this kind of abuse.

"What the hell is going on in here!" Dean shouted, not lowering his gun from the man for one minute. He turned and stared at them, his gaze even and heavy as if he were deciphering a code. Sam started him down, lowering his arm but then quickly raising the gun to point at a man who had just entered, his own gun trained on Sam. "Boys!" cried an indignant landlady. "Put down your weapons this instant!"

Glances were traded around the room and weapons were slowly lowered by all but the young man with the dark hair. Mrs. Hudson turned on him angrily. "Sherlock! Stop blowing holes in my wall. This is coming out of your rent!"

Sherlock gave no indication of hearing her, but the other man pinched the bridge of his nose as if feeling an oncoming headache and apologized. "Yes, sorry Mrs. Hudson. You know how he gets."

She huffed and walked out of the room.

A pregnant silence filled the room as the men stood awkwardly.

"Daddy was a Marine, hm?"

Same and Dean tensed and rounded on Sherlock. "Who the hell are you?" growled Sam.

"You moved around a lot as kids. Mother died when you were young, but the Sasquatch doesn't remember it. He's the younger and you'r'e the older. Your father was absent for most of your lives and so you had to raise your little brother on your own. You've never had a committed relationship and have never been in love, but that doesn't stop the multitude of partners that cross your bedsheets. You have military training though it's rough around the edges. I'd guess your father taught you a few things and you went and became private detectives."

The other, older man sat down and glared at Sherlock, as if waiting for him to finish.

"You also have problems. You've been through hell. Probably a prison of some sort but it definitely wasn't a pleasant experience and you're haunted by it every night. You feel protective of your little brother but betrayed and angry. Something in you resents him heavily," His gaze transferred to Sam. "You have always lusted power and resent your older brother's control, possibly the control of your father as well. You have a higher education but you abandoned it for this job with your brother against your wishes." His eyes narrowed as if frustrated by something and he turned his head to look at the ceiling.

"Do you know this man?" Came the familiar voice along with an invisible ruffle from behind the boys. They parted to let Castiel through and he stared at Sherlock.

"Who the hell are you?" He cried, echoing his baby brother.

The older man stood up. "I can explain. He does this all the time. He's deducing these things from little clues like your posture and such. He's bored, I apologize."

As if intrigued, Sherlock sat upright and started at the angel, then stood and circled him. His face was completely blank as he finally made a full circle and stared at the strange man in the eyes. He stared back unwaveringly with a powerful and ancient stare that confused the genius.  
>"Your brother does actually care for your wellbeing and it wouldn't do well to dwell on him following in your father's footsteps. He is not your father." Stated Castiel bluntly, and walked out of the apartment.<p>

Sherlock and his companion stared in shock. Sherlock looked as if he had been hit by a train.

His companion shook his head and stood to extend his hand. "John Watson. And you are?"

Dean looked on warily but shook his hand. "Dean Winchester. And this is my baby brother, Sam."

Sam gave Dean a silent, brooding look but didn't comment on the jab.

"Why were you shooting the wall? How do you know all of that? How do you know us?" Grilled Dean to the older but younger man.

He put his hands in his trouser pockets and swayed to and fro on his feet as if excited. "I was bored. It's simple. I do not."

The brothers gave him twin withering stares.

"You two obviously have military training, but it's not perfect and is slightly modified for both of you suggesting secondhand knowledge from a source close enough to train you since you were young. You move in sync suggesting that you're used to being codependent on each other and reclusive to others which leads me to conclude you moving around a lot. You, _Dean_, have dark circles under your eyes and you have a haunted expression, ergo you went through something horrific. You have no ring on your finger nor wallet to store pictures in so you've never had a long term relationship. The love bit was a guess. You and your brother move perfectly in sync but you keep your distance and don't keep eye contact long. This suggests shame, guilt, and resentment. Maybe even a bit of hate.

But your brother…ooh he's a difficult one, yeah. You have a haunted look as well, but it's more vacant than anything. You don't like authority and you don't get along with your brother and seeing as your brother probably imitated your father down to the last bit I can assume your home life was filled with lots of fights. It's strange…I can't get a good read on you otherwise."

The brothers exchanged equal looks of frustration but it was Sam who vocalized it. "Piss off."

John let loose a loud bark of a laugh. "I expected that one! What I didn't expect was Sherlock having the tables turned on him by your friend."

The detective's face morphed into irritation. "Yes, who is he?"  
>"Who? Castiel?"<br>"Interesting name."  
>"Yeah, he comes from uh, a religious family."<p>

Another pregnant silence.

"So you moved into 221C?"

The boys, who had been inching towards the exit, froze and cursed internally at John Watson.

"Yeah," said Sam, slapping on a friendly fake smile. "We're only here for a little bit. Heard our cousin was in trouble so we flew over. Do you know a Bella Talbot?"

John mulled it over, seeing as the question was directed towards him but it was Sherlock who answered. "I believe she deals in black market so-called 'mystic' items."

The corners of Dean's mouth twitched up. "That'd be her. Any idea where we can find her?"

"No."

"Well, then. I think we should get going. Don't want Cas to set up alone." Dean forced a smile and they were about to bolt when Watson invited them to dinner. Sam, seeing this as an opportunity for information, accepted immediately despite his elder brother's groan.

They felt like they were fleeing as Sherlock's icy gaze followed them out the door.

"Hey, Cas. We have a dinner date tonight."

Castiel was thrown for a loop and stared at him. "I was unaware you 'played on that team', Dean." The angel said, using his fingers as quotation marks.

Sam let out a short bark of a laugh.

Dean faltered. "No, Cas! Not like a date for…us! With the guys up there."

"Sherlock Holmes is a dangerous man. It would not be wise to meddle with him." Castiel gave Dean that intense stare.  
>"Well, thank Robocop over there for accepting. Too late to back out now." He absentmindedly rubbed his shoulder, which was tingling like it had fallen asleep.<p>

Sherlock gave the men a hard stare as they fled his apartment. He had no notions of it being anything but.

"John, dinner?" He quirked an eyebrow. The man did surprise him sometimes.

"It's proper. You did put the fear of God in them with those gunshots. They're well-trained but I'm surprised they didn't fire."  
>"I'm not. They're used to assessing a situation before firing."<p>

John Watson stared at him, his irritability low at the moment. "But that man….Castiel…" Sherlock muttered to himself as he picked up his violin and began to tease the tune of Chopin's "Nocturne" from the delicate strings, contemplating the turn of events presented by the odd man in the beige overcoat.


	3. A Job and a Dinner Party

Fire licked at his skin, hungry to consume but not so merciful as to actually do it.

Alistair's face as he crawled off the rack.

The face of that young girl as he flayed her soul and did things no human could comprehend.

Fire consumed him and he was back on the rack, ripped to pieces and chewed on by hellhounds, feeling each piece individually broken off and devoured only to be whole again right as the dark threatened to consume him. That was always the worst part, being put back together right as he could taste the end.

And then he was awake. Castiel sat at the end of his bed, peering at him through his dark lashes curiously. "Are you alright, Dean?"  
>Dean looked around and saw Sam sitting at the tiny coffee table in front of a large empty fireplace not far from the end of their beds drinking coffee and searching to web. He gathered his bearings and took a deep breath. "Yeah, Cas. I'm…peachy. What are you up to, Robocop?"<p>

Castiel's wide ocean eyes looked at him in slight confusion and interest, cocking his head as if to say he knew Dean was lying and didn't know why.

He tore his own hazel ones away before he drowned as Sam spoke.

"Well, I looked up this Sherlock guy, Sherlock Holmes, and apparently he's pretty famous in the UK for solving crimes no one else could from the tiniest clues. I have to admit that it's pretty unbelievable. He solved a string of murders from splashes on the back of a girl's heel once. The other guy, John Watson, writes a blog about their escapades. He's apparently an Afghanistan veteran. Sherlock has a brother, Mycroft, but I can't find much about him other than he works for the British government. I don't know which department."

"What's with the names around here?" grumbled Dean as he pulled on clean clothes. Castiel averted his eyes.

He grabbed his keys off the tiny shared bedside table and began to walk out.

"Where are you going?" asked Sam irritably.

"Neither of you sleep. I'm going to walk off the creepy."

With that, he left.

He strolled out of 221C Baker St with confidence. He knew this trip was a good idea, even if they never found Bella. Sure, he wanted to gank the bitch but really what he had wanted was a break.

If his settings were unusual then everything else could seem a tad more normal.

His thoughts were interrupted by a scream coming from a nearby alleyway. It wasn't loud but he heard it and his hand flew to the .45 tucked into his waistband. The sidewalk was mostly empty, being the middle of a weekday, so he pulled it out and crept up to the corner of the alleyway, peering around.

He saw a man on the ground with a woman's long tongue stuck in his neck. He reacted instantly, letting two bullets loose. The woman turned and snarled before transforming into an oddly large bat and flying off. Dean tried to shoot it but his target was too small and too fast.

He sighed and went to check the man's heartbeat but there wasn't one. He examined the body and noticed something odd…his feet looked an awful lot like tree roots.

He stared in bewilderment, unsure of what create he had just shot at, but was distracted by a loud, "Hey! You there!" from the end of the alleyway and groaned.

Friggin' cops.

He was hauled down to the station, loudly protesting.

The interrogation room was the same as every damn interrogation room in every damn police station in America. And it irritated him just as much.

The door opened and a good-looking African-European woman walked in with a file in her hands. She closed it behind her and slapped the file loudly on the table [typical] and sat down opposite him. "So let's start off with something simple, shall we? What's your name?"  
>Dean smiled cheekily. "Honey, I can be whomever you want me to be."<p>

She smirked. "Oh you can, can you? Because I think I like you for this murder charge."

He snorted. "Really? Because he wasn't killed by bullets, a gun was the only weapon on me, and you have no clue how he died. Typical cop crack-work."

Her eyes narrowed and her hands slammed down on the table, looking like she was about to rip her prisoner a new one, when the door opened and in strolled Sherlock with an older, unfamiliar blonde man in his thirties. Dean looked over in mild surprise.

"Sally, you can let him go now. He didn't do it." Stated the unfamiliar man, looking uncomfortable.

"Lestrade, you can't be serious! Don't tell me that this was that freak's doing." She spat, looking at Sherlock with utter disgust and contempt.

"Unfortunately, it seems it is my '_doing_' as you so aptly put it but if you used that tiny little brain of yours then you'd see there's no possible way he could've done it. The victim has flesh under his nails, and he has no scratches on him for one."  
>"That we can see!" she screeched and turned on Dean. "Take your shirt off!"<p>

He was taken a bit aback and stared at her, a half-assed smirk on his face. "What? No dinner first? I gotta say, you get right to the point."

"Your shirt, Dean. She won't rest even in the face of the obvious." The curly-haired man stated, lip curling slightly.

Dean sighed and stood, shrugging off his jacket and pulling off his shirt. His hand flew to his shoulder self-consciously as they appraised his muscled form for any wounds but all they found were scars. "Move your hand from your shoulder, sir." Piped up Lestrade wearily.

Reluctantly, he slowly did and tried not to glare at 'Sally', who gasped at the sight of the angry handprint scarred into his body. "What the hell is that?"

"It's a battle scar, sweetie. Some women find them sexy." He winked, ever the sarcastic charmer. She just glared, waiting for an explaination while he schooled his face into a cool smirk, conveying the fact that she wouldn't get one.

Sherlock stared at the scar and then at Dean searchingly. "Right," he said. "Put your shirt back on and let's go."  
>He dressed and followed Holmes out the door, pausing halfway through the doorframe only to point at Sally paired with a wink and a click of the tongue before leaving to collect his gun. Once he did he caught up to the man who broke him out.<p>

"Thanks, man. Gotta say though you were not the person I was expecting to come through that door."  
>The strolled down the hallways filled with cops and Dean hid a look of contempt for them.<p>

"Ah, yes. And you were not the person I expected to be bailing out, Mr. Winchester. You have quite the interesting file."

Dean halted. "How do you know my last name?" He knew they should've used fake identities. He cursed under his breath.  
>"Relax. It was obvious you didn't do it. And I remember seeing the news. I do keep up with America and you did hold up quite a large bank."<p>

He stared at the man, unsure of how to react. The man smirked at his hesitance. "Follow me."

They hailed a taxi and instead of arriving at Baker street like expected they arrived at some sort of teaching hospital. Dean got out and followed Sherlock wordlessly to the morgue, cryptically staring at his back the whole time. They entered and a young woman in her twenties came up to Sherlock excitedly. He supposed she was pretty though she seemed a tad too innocent and naïve for Dean's taste.

"We need to see the most recent victim, please." Stated Sherlock calmly. It was clear the 'please' was just formality.

She hesitated. "The police told me you weren't to be involved in this one."

"Are you wearing mascara?"  
>Taken aback, she blushed. "I-why, yes. I am. Why?"<br>Sherlock hesitated visibly and said softly. "It looks quite nice. Makes your eyes pop wonderfully."

She stammered that she would get the body out and walked away, heart pounding. Dean smirked. "Poor girl has it bad."  
>Sherlock didn't look at him. "Yes, well, she is a bit empty-minded."<p>

He didn't know what else to say so he just shrugged and waited for the body to be rolled out. He didn't have to wait long and Sherlock strolled over quickly, long legs allowing him advantage over Dean, and immediately unzipped the body bag with a flourish of familiarity.

He stared at the wound on the man's neck.

Molly pulled out his chart and began to read it off. "Dobbs, Paul. Age: 31. Cause of Death: Unknown origin. The wound on his neck reaches his heart and he is missing almost all blood. There is the…deformity of his feet never before mentioned in his files," She handed it over to Holmes. "I don't know what to make of it. No one does."

"Yes, well, when do you?" He countered haughtily.

Dean stared. "Uhm…not to intrude on this session here or anything, but why am I here?"

"Because I wished to come here and you have no money on you for a cab back. I do not trust you with my money or wish to pay for an extra cabbie so rightly you must accompany me here until I wish to go home."

"Ri-ight," Dean drew out, giving Sherlock an odd look. "Well, I'm going to make a phone call."  
>He strolled out and flipped open his cell phone before remembering it wasn't international. He cursed and looked around before walking a ways away from the door. "Cas! Castiel!" he shouted as quiet as he could. The familiar ruffled of hidden feathers assaulted his ears and the angel was there. "Yes, Dean?"<br>"I ran into trouble. There's this guy who was killed and I saw it happen. Looks like a job."  
>"Why am I here?"<br>"I don't have an international cell phone and I need you to relay the info to Sammy and see if you guys can figure out what it is. I can't leave; don't want this Sherlock character getting suspicious."

He could've sworn Cas's face betrayed irritation. "Right. What did you see?"  
>"A woman. Average looking. She had a long-ass tongue and shoved it into the dude's neck. I think she was sucking his blood. I shot at her twice and she transformed into some sorta bat thing. The guy's feet looked like tree roots though I have no idea if that's related."<br>Castiel nodded. "Is that all?" He looked ready to depart, turning away.

"Yeah, and Cas?" The angel hesitated and looked back at Dean with weary eyes. "I know I don't say it enough, but thank you."  
>Castiel smiled faintly and left.<br>Dean stood there alone for a moment, feeling slightly sad and not knowing why, before shaking it off and reentering the morgue.

"Are you done with your call?" Sherlock raised one eyebrow as if he knew something. Dean blushed slightly without knowing and cleared his throat gruffly.

"Yeah, you done here?"

The man nodded and they caught a silent cab back. Dean ignored the way the younger man's eyes looked at him. Like he was a puzzle he couldn't figure out.

It was near dinnertime by the time they got back and he headed down to his apartment wordlessly.

He burst in the door and Sam looked up in surprise. "Just on time. We're going to dinner at 221B in a bit."

"Did you find anything about that thing?"  
>"Uhm…yeah. It's an Aswang. They generally don't hunt during the day and are from Filipino folklore. They're basically vampires that feed using long venomous pointy tongues and then they transform their victims into plants afterwards. They haven't been sighted in a long time. We need to tail of a sting ray to stab it with or sterling silver bullets. Salt seems to work pretty well in slowing them down."<p>

Dean stared. "All this in two hours?"  
>"I called Bobby."<p>

"Using what?"  
>"I have an international cell phone. I recommend getting one," Sam said dryly, picking up his jacket and throwing it on. "We need to go soon. Where's Castiel?"<br>"Cas is coming?" Dean asked, thrown off guard for some reason.

"Yeah, duh. It would look a little weird if he didn't. I already gave him the run-down on human to-do's and to-don'ts. No worries."

The sound of a flutter alerted Dean that the angel was right behind him. He turned around and appraised him. "You look like a mess."

It was true. Dean never cared before, but if they were to appear normal some things needed to be fixed.

He ruffled Castiel's hair to make it look purposefully messy instead of just crazy and straightened his shirt. He stared and then helped him out of his overcoat, took off his tie, and pulled out his shirt. Cas stood there mutely during the hunter's ministrations, meeting his eyes every few seconds and feeing very aware. When Dean began to unbutton his shirt his eyes snapped up to meet the other's in shock. He blushed and was about to object when Dean spoke. "There! Now you don't look so much like a holy tax accountant. More like a holy lazy office worker."

Cas looked down as the two buttons that were undone and then back up at Dean, cocking his head to the side with his lips slightly parted in angelic confusion.

Sam watched the whole exchange weirdly. "Right. Now that you're done playing dolls, we need to get going."

Dean nodded and they headed up. Sherlock opened the door before Sam knocked and smirked, full of ulterior motives. "Glad you made it." He turned on his heel and headed away, expecting them to follow. Cas grabbed Dean's arm. "I am uncomfortable with this. This man could find out who I am."  
>"Relax, Cas. He's logical. How would he make that jump?"<p>

This did nothing to reassure him. "He is very…open to ideas once the seed is planted and I wish for his garden to remain dry. He is to see or hear nothing unusual."

Dean stiffened, remembering the police station. "About that….he saw your handprint."  
>The angel's intense stare, if possible, intensified. "He what? I am assuming it was unavoidable for your sake. Let us not give him cause for more inquiry however impossible that may be."<br>Castiel spun and stomped inside with bridled anger.

Dean shivered and followed. Sometimes it was so easy to forget the power he possessed, that it was a being as large as the Chrysler building possessing Jimmy Novak.

"So," He clapped his hands eagerly. "Dinner. What's on the menu?"  
>Watson smiled. "Shepherd's pie. Mrs. Hudson makes the best."<br>He used this opportunity to look around the apartment. It was cluttered and dirty and there was a skull on the mantle. He shrugged and went to the fridge to see if they had any beer and stared at what he saw, not fully processing it, before looking around and spotting one. He grinned and grabbed it from the side door and popped it open before taking a swig. Closing the door, he turned around to find everyone staring at him. "What?"  
>John stood up straight from the computer he had hunched over showing the rest of Team Free-will his blog. "You're not going to ask about the head?"<br>Dean looked around and back at the fridge, then back at everyone else. He shrugged and took another drink, giving a satisfied sigh. "Yeah, it's not the weirdest thing I've ever seen." He walked into the living room behind a chair and noticed the book Sherlock was reading; "Angels and Demons" by Dan Brown.

He cursed and hoped it was fiction. "What's that about?" He asked, trying to be discreet.

"A man in the middle of conspiracy. Quite the read." He quipped back.  
>"Ah."<p>

An awkward silence descended between the two as Sam started talking nerd stuff (Dean could totally tell it was an act based on real Sam) with John. Castiel was reading the news he found lying around.

Sherlock read. And Dean stood there, rocking back and forth with discomfort. Cas noticed and gestured for Dean to come over. Grateful, he did. "Yeah? What's up?"  
>"You look uneasy. Why is this?"<br>"Uh…because that guy's people skills suck, I hate dinner parties, and I really wish I was in a pub picking up some fiery Irish chick right now."  
>"Regardless, it seems Sam is growing more comfortable. He told me while you were looking for a beer that these people may not be as big of a threat as he had initially assumed. I believe that is grounds to relax on, though I still think hiding much from that man is prudent."<p>

Dean nodded and leaned over to whisper in Cas's ear. "I've been meaning to ask, how can I cover up this scar? It's a bit conspicuous."  
>Cas tilted his head and leaned over to whisper back. "It cannot be. My hand is branded into your very soul," Dean shivered as the angel's hot breath wafted over his earlobe and his soft, gravelly voice entered his ears for him only. "I had to expose much power to Alistair in order to shock him into letting you go and that will forever be a part of you. I apologize if it is inconvenient."<p>

Dean shook his head, not bothering too much with the whispering anymore, but keeping his voice low all the same. "If having this scar is all I have to pay for what I've been given, I'm fine with it," He smiled a bit thoughtfully, "Besides, it's kind of an honor. I've been 'touched by an angel'." He snorted and chuckled at his crappy humor and Castiel's obvious confusion.  
>"I do not understand the humor in that comment."<br>"You don't have to, Don't worry about it."  
>Mrs. Hudson came in cheerily with a rather large tray and placed it on the coffee table, "I've brought dinner, boys! Oh, I hope you're hungry."<p>

Sherlock turned his book over on the armrest to save his place and John gave out dinner trays for everyone to place their food on, apologizing for the mini lab on the dining table. While everyone was dishing up, Dean discreetly walked over to the armrest and flipped over Sherlock's book to see if he was telling the truth about it. He scanned it, feeling a sense of familiarity about the page and seeing nothing incriminating before his eyes rested on the page number and he froze.

It had been well over ten minutes, but Sherlock Holmes had not turned a single page.


	4. Veritas

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural [but I wish I was friends with the cast. Sigh.]

Dinner had continued along fine and well. Every time Castiel didn't get a reference or almost spilled the truth instinctively, Dean stepped on his foot under the coffee table which annoyed the Seraph immensely. Sam carried on meaningless conversation with John and Sherlock kept asking questions, which was starting to grate on Dean's nerves because they seemed particularly aimed at one person.

"So where were you born?"  
>"Pontiac, Illinois." Always, he would respond with a grunt.<p>

"Do you have a family?"

Castiel hesitated, unsure of how to answer. Finally he settled on, "Quite a large one."

Dean glared at the supposed 'genius'.

"Are you married?"  
>"I, myself, am not."<br>"I see you're wearing a wedding band though. Why are you wearing it?"  
>Cas flexed his hand and looked at the ring as if he had just realized he was wearing it. "…it is a memento."<p>

"I see. So you've lost someone dear to you."  
>The angel pinned the man with one of his soul-piercing gazes, strong and unwavering and filled with a millennia of pain and experience. "I have lost more than you can comprehend…Sherlock."<p>

Dean coughed and gave the man a warning look. "Oh," murmured Sherlock as if he had just figured out the puzzle. "I see you don't like me prodding. You have something to hide after all."

He flashed a cocky grin. "Everyone does, buddy."  
>"Yes, but not many succeed in hiding it from me."<p>

"Well I've been known to make the impossible possible."

"It's true," Castiel nodded gravely, unaware of the joking nature on the surface of this conversation. "I have seen him do the impossible when all the forces of Heaven are against him."

Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat, wishing to leave. He glanced outside, saw it was dark, and stood up, tapping Sam on the shoulder. "Hey! We should probably get going. We still have someone to meet up with." His face smiled but his eyes flashed warning and Sam caught on. Soulless or not, he still remembered Dean's facial expressions and their meanings so he stood in tandem with Castiel who was slightly confused.  
>"Right! Gotta track down Bella. Thanks so much for the food and company, it was delicious and I'm sure we all enjoyed ourselves very much." Sam was the perfect grateful houseguest and John laughed at his courtesy.<p>

"It's no problem at all! It was nice to have someone normal over for once. It was nice to meet you."

Everyone started shaking hands with each other [which served to confuse their angel more] and as Dean took Sherlock's into his grasp, he couldn't help looking into his eyes intensely and muttering, "Let me know when you finished that book; doesn't look like you got very far tonight."

Sherlock merely smiled and nodded before escorting the trio out of the door.

The second Sam was sure they were out of earshot he said, "Well that was annoying. Let's hunt this bitch down."

And down they went into their tiny apartment. When they got inside, Dean made to throw the key onto the bedside table and froze. "Uh….you guys. Since when do we have a fresh plant in here?"  
>Castiel walked over quickly and caressed the leaves. "It was once a human."<p>

"So she knows where we are." Sam looked around suspiciously. Castiel nodded.

"Affirmative. She apparently wishes for you to back off."  
>"Guess so. How do we go about getting a sting ray-tail dagger?"<br>Cas blinked out of existence and returned not twenty minutes later in a ruffle of feathers to find the two flipping through Filipino texts. He dropped the ancient sting ray-tail dagger on Dean's lap. He looked up in surprise. "Thanks, Cas. That's way cheaper than having to buy a buncha sterling silver to turn into bullets." He laughed and closed the book, examining the artifact. It was in a sterling silver hilt that was slightly tarnished and the tail was slightly worn; it had definitely seen use before.

"It will harden in the presence of the aswang."  
>Dean smirked at the sexual innuendos he could make, but didn't say out loud. Sam caught his expression and shook his head. "Seriously?"<p>

He shrugged in response and laughed. Castiel just cocked his head.

It had been two days of searching for her. Two frickin days and Dean was getting pissed. Castiel had disappeared and hadn't been answering their calls for help and the aswang, having been able to turn her victims into goddamn ferns or what have you, was nearly impossible to track.

The victim he had intruded on her with seemed to be a tourist so, as a last resort, he headed up to 221B to ask a favor.

Dean knocked lightly and the door was opened swiftly by Mr. Genius. Dean grunted and pushed past him. "Please, do come in." Remarked the man dryly

Dean heard the tinkle of female laughter from the kitchen and raised an eyebrow in Sherlock's direction. "Didn't figure you for a ladies' man."

"I'm not." He smirked.

Dean shrugged and went towards the mountainous pile of books in the corner. "I need a London A-Z book."

Sherlock's gaze sharpened. "Why not just go buy one yourself?"

"What are you kidding me? I have no clue how this city works and I'm not wasting money on something I can borrow from you mooks while I'm here." Dean crouched down and began to shuffle through them, looking for the intended book.

"Aha!" He had found it underneath the couch and reached under to grab it. A pattering of footsteps came closer and he heard John laughing with the woman he heard earlier. Dean smirked. So it was John who was the ladies' man. He stood up and turned around laughing, about to make a joke when his eyes locked with the woman's and he froze.

They stood there in silence, frozen. Then Dean whipped out his gun and cocked it. She smiled at him charmingly and flipped her hair over her shoulder.

"Hey! What the hell do you think you're doing!" Sputtered John, obviously upset and confused.

"Get away from her if you want to live," snarled Dean, gesturing with his gun for him to go away. Slowly, John backed up.

"Is that a threat?" Cam Sherlock's droll voice

"No, but it is a warning. I'm saving your idiot roommate's life."

The woman laughed. "Oh, please. Saving his life? You ruin the lives of everyone around you."

"Shut the hell up you bitch."

"Well, well. We have a dilemma here, don't we, Dean Winchester? See, you forgot your one weapon that will work on me downstairs," She started to circle the room slowly and Dean moved to stay opposite of her until he stood in front of the two men. "And I have a bounty I wish to collect but I need you alive."

He faltered. "What?"  
>"Yes, you see, the King of Hell has decided he doesn't like all your prodding and poking around and so he's decided to keep you locked up until he finds Purgatory, despite your angel's best efforts."<br>"Crowley?" His mouth went dry. "What do you mean, "angel"?"

She smirked darkly. "Oh you didn't know? Poor boy has no clue that the angel and the demon are working together towards the same goal."

Dean's heart stopped. And he fired until his clip was empty. She merely laughed at the bullet holes in her torso and jumped out the window.

He turned towards the two men. "I know you have questions and you're about to have more," He held up his finger and took a deep breath. "Hold that thought."

He looked up and yelled, "Cas! Castiel! Get your little feathery ass down here or I swear to your absent Father I'll-"  
>"You'll do what?" Came a female voice.<p>

He turned. "Who the fuck are you?"

The woman, suddenly there, looked at him haughtily. "Rachel. I am here on Castiel's behalf. He's busy."  
>"Busy?"<br>"Yes. Busy."  
>"Well tell him to get his butt down here."<br>"I'm sure your issue is very important, but Castiel is currently commanding an army, so-"  
>"No. You get him down here."<p>

Her face twisted into an expression of fury. "You need to learn your place. I'm his friend, and I'm sick of you calling him every time you need him."  
>"You think we're not?"<br>"Clearly, or you wouldn't call him every time you stub your toe you petty, entitled little pieces of-"  
>"Rachel." Came a voice from beside Dean, who jumped just as much as the other two men who had remained completely silent. "I can handle it from here."<p>

She glared at Dean and disappeared.

"What do you need, Dean?"  
>"Fascinating. So this is why I couldn't get a read on you."<p>

Castiel turned towards the humans behind them and then towards Dean. "I am supposing this was inevitable. For your sake."

"Aswang wanted a piece of Costello over there." He jerked a thumb in Watson's direction, who was pale and stuttering. "We have to talk."

He dialed Sam and spoke in words that made no sense to anyone in the room. "Samantha. Yeah, helter skelter the massage and paint yourself a pretty picture up in 221B. They know and the Aswang was after Watson."

Soon there was a knock and he let in Sam, who took in the scene. The coffee table was crooked, Watson sat in a chair with his head in his hands and Sherlock sat on the arm of said chair looking positively starstruck. Cas stood in the middle of the room and quick as they could, both Sam and Dean took out tiny flasks and drew a half circle each around him before Dean lit the holy oil. The process took less than 2 seconds.

Cas looked shocked.

So did the other two.

Dean glared at the denizen of Heaven and turned toward the other two. "We'll deal with your questions first."

"What the hell just happened." Watson's voice was flat.

Sam took the lead. "Aswang. Filipino vampire would've killed you and turned you into a plant."

Sherlock's face lit up. "Ah, I see now. What is…Castiel?"  
>"An Angel."<p>

"And the flames?"  
>"Holy oil. It'll kill him if he tries to leave."<br>"King of Hell?"  
>"Crowley. Why? How do you know that title?"<br>Sam turned to his brother in the most confusion his soulless body could muster.

Instead of answering his brother's gaze, he turned to the angel and asked, "You gotta be honest with me, man-"  
>"I am honest with you, Dean."<br>"No! I had to find out through some friggin Aswang that you're working with _Crowley_? That you're looking for _Purgatory_ and my grandfather and my brother are here because of you? Tell me it's not true."

He looked into the angel's eyes searchingly and the gaze that met his was a sad one before he looked down, unable to continue looking into those hazel eyes. Dean's breath hitched unhappily in his throat.

"Why?"

"Because Raphael is winning, Dean. And souls are power. Five million untapped souls…it could change everything. I could stop them from trying to start the Apocalypse again."

"Man, this isn't the way to do it," he pleaded. "This is no different than Sam and his little…escapade with Ruby."

He was aware of the other men still and felt uncomfortable interrogating his best friend in front of them, but he wasn't going to ask them to leave or give away things he didn't wish.

"It is far different, Dean, because I'm not sleeping with Crowley."  
>Sam glared.<p>

Dean did the same. "Demons always screw you in the end. You know that. I know that more than anybody and there's always a price to pay. Please stop, Cas. I don't want to have to kill you. Let us help you."

Castiel's face went slack with despair and hurt and he looked down.

Dean turned towards the other men.

"Right…" He gathered himself. "Any more questions?"  
>"Your scar," Started Sherlock after a long silence. "How did you get it?"<br>Dean sighed. "Honestly? I made a deal with a demon to get my little brother back from Hell and they gave me a year. Was hunted and killed by hellhounds. And then after 40 years, featherbrain over here "gripped me tight and raised me from Perdition". Or at least that's how he put it."

Sherlock stared, a tad unsure. Watson stared at him. "Sherlock, you can't be serious. You're going to believe them, are you?"  
>He turned to his companion. "Watson, we just saw your date get shot and run off and two people popped into existence. Not to mention, the angel looks positively terrified. Also, that scar is unbelievably well shaped."<p>

"Well.." Dean took a deep, angry breath. "Now that you're satisfied I want you out."  
>"What? This is our flat-" Watson protested.<p>

Sam cut him off. "We don't need you to hear everything. I'm guessing the only reason my brother let you see this is so we wouldn't have to spend a stupid amount of time explaining and proving things. Leave."

Grumbling, the two men got up and walked out the door.

They turned to Castiel, silent in his burning prison. Dean pressed his palms to his eyes in anguish until he saw spots in the backs of his eyes and sat down. "Why would you hide this from us?" His voice cracked under the disappointment and sadness.

Castiel looked at him with weary eyes. "Because I wouldn't ask you to help, not at the time."  
>"Why?"<br>"Because it was after Sam died. Because I looked at you and thought to myself, 'here's a man who gave up everything. He's lost everything in his life and the last bit of happiness he has is this woman and child; this apple-pie life. And I was about to ask him to give more than he already had, to risk his life in the name of Heaven yet again.' And, Dean, I couldn't do that. You, I believe, are my closest friend. And I could not ask you to destroy the small semblance of peace you had constructed as per your brother's final wishes."

Dean looked away, focusing on a crooked floorboard. The emotion in Castiel's eyes was overflowing and he felt it reach him. It was funny how the angel could convey more emotion through his eyes than anyone he had ever met. The emotion in his pleading eyes right now made his own sting.

"Well," His voice cracked and he cleared it. "We know now. We're here now. What can we do to help? Don't open Purgatory. I'm sure there was a reason it was sealed off."  
>"I will…do my best to absolve my agreement with Crowley. He will not be happy. But I need to convince Balthazar to allow me access to his weapons room. If I have those weapons, I can win the war."<p>

Dean smiled wryly, "You see? There's alternatives. Although I think my first concern is getting Sam's soul back, if at any time you need something don't hesitate to ask. If I can, I will help. It's no less than you've done for me."

"Dean, I implore your forgiveness in this issue-"  
>Dean held up his finger, cutting him off. "Don't. I'm having a lot of troubles getting past this. So go and terminate your deal with Crowley. But don't push me. Ask me again in a week."<p>

With those words, he got up and dumped a nearby glass of water on the circle, extinguishing the flaming cage. Castiel gave Dean one last look of longing and disappeared in that familiarly soft sound of feathers.

**I wish to thank everyone who followed this story. I'll be writing a sequel, of course, but I wish to end it here because…well…it **_**is**_** called "Shattered Bonds"**

**I hate Soulless!Sam and most likely he'll get his soul back next story and that's all I'm saying. This was meant to be kind of a rushed prequel. I hope you'll stick around for "Reforged"**


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